Author's Note: I originally published a few chapters of this story on an old HP fanfiction site titled "Checkmated" in 2008. After "Checkmated" disappeared, I transferred the story to FFNet to maintain it. However, about two years ago I realized there were some problems with the story, and I deleted it in order to rework it and clean it up a bit. I am now reposting it as I rework each chapter, and hope to finish it. It's still probably not perfect, but at least I corrected a particularly glaring error. I plan to post a new chapter once every week or two, through chapter sixteen (there will likely be approximately 20 chapters total).

Disclaimers: I most obviously do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters featured in those books, films, etc. I did make up some characters for this fanfiction, however.

Warnings: VIOLENCE, SEX, MURDER, ETC. In general, this is a fairly dark fic. Head the rating.

Timeline: ca. 800-1000 CE; before Merlin attended Hogwarts. Approximately two decades after the Founding of Hogwarts.

Inspiration:

Harry Potter and the Death Hallows, Chapter 35, "King's Cross"

Harry Potter: So it's true? All of it? The Peverell brothers –

Albus Dumbledore: – were the three brothers of the tale. Oh yes, I think so. Whether they met Death on a lonely road…I think it more likely that the Peverell brothers were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who succeeded in creating those powerful objects. The story of them being Death's own Hallows seems to me the sort of legend that might have sprung up around such creations.

Chapter One: Returns

It had rained recently. The narrow, slippery track that wound from the village of Hogsmeade was muddy and rutted. It would likely rain again before nightfall, if the slate-gray clouds were any indication. The entire surrounding landscape echoed the dismal, quiet atmosphere: the barren trees looked black, and the hedgerows were muted and dark.

Two men walked along this lonely track, one behind the other. Both ignored the splashing of mud on their knee-high leather boots, or the way the cold, iron-gray water on the ground had already seeped into their long, trailing cloaks. The taller wore a thick, heavy broadsword strapped to his back, while his companion clung to a shorter, more slender sword, keeping it well above the ground. They seemed intent on reaching their destination before the rain commenced again.

But despite their steady pace, the uphill trek was long and tiring. The younger man was clearly exhausted as he mounted a small hillock with obvious effort. The taller, however, showed no sign of fatigue. His broad, strong build indicated the walk was nothing out of the ordinary for him, and he was the least surprised when a few moments later, a castle loomed out of the gray fog surrounding the mountains.

When the huge structure came into view, both men paused in the path at the crest of the hill they had just climbed, the younger catching his breath. The wind was bitingly cold here, and even their thick woolen cloaks didn't help much. But the taller man stood completely still, as though carved from stone, and he gazed upon the tall ramparts and towers that spiraled out of sight into the dull, low-lying clouds.

Then they were in motion once more, bent against the sudden, rushing gale as they followed the path upwards. The path turned steeply for several yards before the slope became gentle once more, and the shorter man was breathing hard once again as they gained the even ground. As they came closer to the castle, he finally succumbed to shivering as the wind blew his cloak back from his right shoulder; he stumbled and quickly gained his balance. He glanced up at the castle, with an expression that revealed he was desperate to get out of the intense wind and cold.

And to his relief, the heavy, oak front doors opened as they came within hailing distance, and a man unexpectedly stepped out to greet them.

He was incredibly different from the two men who had made the long hike to the castle. The bitter wind did not seem to force him to bend; rather, he remained erect and tall, defying it to make him lean. It tousled his rugged mane of auburn brown hair, and the deep, wine-red cloak whipped around him as he strode boldly forward, his hands outstretched.

"And so two of our pure blood brothers return to the halls of scholarly endeavors!" he called out cheerfully. "We were beginning to wonder if the two of you had survived the Clan Wars in the North! The term began over a month ago, and we have all been concerned for your safety!" He grasped hands with the taller first, smiling genially at him. The two were almost the same height, but while the one had hair of auburn, the other had hair as black as ebony, and his eyes were the color of the gray sky around them.

The dark-haired man smiled wanly. "Master Godric," he said, bowing over the outstretched hands. "As you see, we have survived, and I apologize for our tardiness. Most unfortunately, war does not stop to allow students to return to their studies, or we would have returned at the start of harvest, and quite eagerly. Even as it was, we were afraid the doors would be charmed against outsiders so late after the term began..." His gaze flickered to the towering spires.

"Against outsiders, yes, but not comrades. I saw you approaching from the battlements, and came to welcome you." Godric Gryffindor smiled, and then turned to the other man, who also bowed to him in nervous submission. But the Founder seemed unconcerned with formalities – indeed, he ignored the gesture entirely and instead went on, "Come inside and warm yourselves! 'Tis deathly cold, and I'll warrant a Warming Charm will be useless against this wind!" He nodded for the two men to follow him, turning for the heavy doors again.

"Your brother will be happy to see you," he added over his shoulder. "He has been quite worried for you both. He was afraid to send an owl in case it was intercepted, but he has been extremely restless waiting for news of you!"

With this statement, Godric raise his wand, and a huge silver lion streaked from it soundlessly, flying into the sky, suddenly invisible against the palette of gray except for the way it sparkled slightly, while the clouds remained lifeless and flat. It vanished through the window of one of the tallest towers, and the two travelers knew it carried a message with it. Godric Gryffindor had long ago mastered the art of communicating with Patronuses, though few others had been able to learn his secret. They knew that their brother would be down shortly to greet them.

The three men entered the vast front hall of the castle, and the door banged shut with a loud echo. Though not exactly warm within the confines of the cold stone walls, it was at least dry and only a little chilly – there was thankfully no wind, and the two men began to realize how deep the cold had ran into the marrow of their bones during their long walk. Shivering and shaking, they followed Godric into the Great Hall, where four long silken banners fluttered from the ceiling representing the coat of arms and colors for each of the Founders. Otherwise, the Hall was void of tables and benches, save for the one long table at the top of the Hall, behind which an older man with a long gray beard was pacing slowly, reading a lengthy scroll of parchment.

The heavy footsteps on the flagstones captured his attention however, and he glanced up with a wary, frowning expression. However, when he saw who was approaching, his expression cleared. He waved his wand and the parchment Vanished instantly; then he stepped from the head table and strode to meet his colleague and pupils.

"Antioch," he said peremptorily. He steepled his fingers and gave the merest flickering trace of a smile. "It is good to see you once again. And Cadmus." He inclined his head to the shorter brother, who was professing his thanks even as Antioch made a low bow.

"Master Salazar. We apologize for our late arrival. The Clan Wars were more involving than we expected. However, they have temporarily abated, allowing us to return for the winter."

"We are thankful that you have survived to return to us," Salazar said coolly.

Godric chuckled. "They are brave men I warrant, despite the qualities which brought them under the tutelage of Founders aside from myself."

"Be that as it may," Salazar frowned, "their safety is extremely important. The Peverell family is an essential bloodline in the Wizarding community. If we continue to be persecuted, Godric, even you can not deny that Magical blood will die out."

The shadow that passed in Godric's eyes disappeared so quickly one may have wondered if they had seen it at all. And his voice was light as he replied, "The Clan Wars were Wizarding Wars, as you yourself know, Salazar. They had nothing to do with blood purity – only the Clan of MacBain fighting for land rights against the Clan of Findlay. You know very well that the Peverell house has distant ties with Findlay, which was the reason Antioch and Cadmus were called to fight in the first place. I would hardly call it an attempt to eradicate one of our esteemed wizarding families."

Salazar pursed his thin lips together tightly, but before he could retort, the sound of soft footsteps alerted the men to another presence. As they turned to the doors leading to the Entrance Hall, a tall, graceful woman came towards them, her midnight blue cloak fluttering around her and her long, wavy black hair rippling down her back. She smiled benignly at them all before she greeted the second brother.

"Cadmus, it is good to see you again. We were beginning to worry that you and Antioch would not be returning to Hogwarts this term."

The second brother's eyes widened to see his tutor approaching him, and he bowed low. "Mistress Rowena," he said quickly. "I am eager to continue my studies. We are thankful to return to the castle and apologize for our tardiness."

"Your studies are eager to embrace you once more as well," Rowena answered placidly. "The Art of War does not compare with the Art of Knowledge, or the ability to immerse yourself in expanding your Knowledge to new horizons."

"No, Mistress," Cadmus agreed, still bent at the waist. Only when she touched his shoulder with her slim fingertips did he straighten.

She then turned to Antioch. "And you have returned despite being of age," she mused, her eyes flickering over his tall frame, pale features, and tousled, long black hair.

"Yes, Mistress," Antioch replied. "I have a desire to continue my studies, if Master Salazar will accept me once more under his tutelage, despite my age."

A ghost of a smile flitted over Salazar Slytherin's face. "You need not ask, Antioch. You are one of my brightest pupils, and I have always been impressed with your talent. But I would suggest this year that you focus on specific courses of study, rather than a broad spectrum. You have missed a good deal of time while fighting in the Clan Wars, and after next year, I will be unable to accept you into the school as a student due to your age. The school was only designed for young wizards and witches, up to eighteen summers. You are on the cusp."

"I understand completely, Master Salazar." Antioch bowed low again. "I will make the most use of my short time during my last few months with you."

"Excellent," Salazar murmured.

"Antioch! Cadmus!" The excited voice rang through the Great Hall with an echo and broke the placid conversation. It was followed by the hard pounding of footsteps on the stone floor, and the three Founders and the two brothers turned to see a younger man running towards them, his face lit with excitement.

Antioch was tall, broad, and stoic – his demeanor was quiet, yet calm and confident. Some even considered it arrogant, with a darker side that his brothers had often witnessed when he was angry or intently focused on his studies. Cadmus was shorter and stockier. His hair and eyes were dark brown, and his skin more clammy than Antioch's pale, perfect features. His general personality not nearly as intimidating as his older brother's was, but in some ways, he was even more arrogant than Antioch.

On the other hand, Ignotus Peverell was full of the life his older brothers seemed to hold in reserve. He was taller than Cadmus but shorter than Antioch – his hair was as black as the elder's, but naturally tousled and thick. His eyes were hazel, but they contained more color than Antioch's lifeless gray, with specks of green and blue. He was starting to fill out in the shoulders, but still wiry and lanky at only sixteen years of age. And while his brothers wore coarse, dark traveling clothes, he wore brown breaches and knee-high boots, a red tunic with a gold long shirt beneath, and a bright red cape for warmth. He had been Sorted differently than his bothers, selected by Master Godric for potential bravery and courage.

Ignotus did not stop running as he reached Antioch. He merely kept going, throwing his arms around his brother's neck to embrace him tightly. Antioch stumbled at the onslaught. It was obvious that he disapproved of his youngest brother's wild shouts and reckless running, but Ignotus did not seem notice his brother's expression of severity, for he turned to Cadmus and embraced him affectionately as well. He was already talking before he had stepped back, hardly taking a breath between sentences.

"I'm so glad to see you both! I couldn't send an owl in case one of the Clans intercepted it, and I was so worried neither of you would return! But you're here, and now I can at least write mother and tell her you're both alive. She's been more worried than I was!"

"Ignotus," Antioch said sharply, frowning at his youngest brother.

Ignotus fell silent, confused that his older brother had cut him off. There was much to tell them of what had been happening at the castle and at home the previous summer while he had stayed alone with their mother, and he didn't understand why Antioch looked so severe.

It was Cadmus who explained, "We bring with us grave tidings, which mar your celebration of our safe return." He looked away from Ignotus, as though he didn't want to meet his brother's eyes.

"You are both alive. What grave tidings could you possibly have?"

"Grave tidings indeed." Antioch paused, his muscles tense and tight. Then he said emotionlessly, "Father was killed in battle, Ignotus. Just two weeks ago."

The hall fell silent. For a few seconds, Ignotus merely stared at him, disbelieving. Godric Gryffindor had stiffened, Salazar Slytherin had frowned, and Rowena Ravenclaw's brow had knitted together in thought.

"Killed?" Ignotus whispered. "Father is... dead?"

The words sank in as he said them, and he swayed. Valiantly, he regained his balance to keep his knees from buckling under him. His father – the lifeline of their family, their patriarch, their protector and defender, the man who had raised them and taught them to duel, to fight, to stand strong...he was dead?

Behind him, he heard Godric whisper, "No... it cannot be...!"

Antioch continued tonelessly, as if reciting a lesson Salazar had given him to memorize. "The battle was going poorly. Findlay had lost much ground, and they had been fighting several days to regain it, without success. Several of the Findlay leaders agreed that it would be best to wager all of the land on a single duel instead of pitched fighting, to avoid losing any additional warriors. Tearlach Findlay asked father if he would duel the leader of the MacBain Clan in this venture – a warrior named Athol. Father agreed. And Athol accepted on behalf of the MacBain Clan."

Angrily, Ignotus argued, "But Father was an incredible dueler! He couldn't have lost against another…especially one so less worthy!"

Antioch's words were measured. "He did lose. It seems he was not as cunning or intelligent as Athol MacBain."

Ignotus bristled immediately. "How dare you say that father was unintelligent –!"

"He refused, blatantly," Antioch emphasized, cutting Ignotus off, "to wear the goblin-made armor Tearlach Findlay offered him before the duel. Had he worn that armor, he would not have been killed."

Cadmus quickly broke in to prevent Ignotus from exploding into another outburst. "Father said it was a dishonor to fight in armor. The act of a coward. That is why he refused. You would have done the same."

Ignotus managed to bite his tongue, and the pain somehow brought him to reality. Cadmus said what he had intentionally; his words had checked the youngest Peverell brother's temper and overwhelming grief, because Godric Gryffindor, who claimed he had seen tremendous bravery in the youngest Peverell brother, as well as courage and daring, had Sorted Ignotus into his fold, and the other Founders had agreed with the decision six years ago. Therefore, Ignotus could not possibly gainsay his Father's actions when he himself would have likely chosen the same path had he accepted the same duel.

"It wasn't just the armor, though," Antioch said darkly after a long, tense pause. His eyes had turned a stormy, furious gray, belying his well-concealed anger. "Athol claimed afterwards that he had a better, stronger wand. Father's wand shattered at the very end of the duel. They had been battling fiercely, and we were certain that father would win. But then Athol cast a spell that I was completely unfamiliar with. It killed father instantly and his wand was destroyed into splinters. The MacBain Clan agreed to retreat one hundred yards to allow us to gather our dead, but the battle and several strongholds were lost. All we had striven for throughout the summer...it was all gone. We lost all the ground we worked so hard to retrieve, and were forced to retreat to the castles in the west. The MacBain Clan took over the land even as we were retreating."

Salazar Slytherin frowned slightly. "A stronger wand? But wands are no stronger or weaker than others. The wizard controls the wand, and it is the wizard who is stronger or weaker than his opponent. The very idea of one wand being more powerful than another has no logic, Antioch."

Antioch turned to his Founder. "That is what I thought as well, prior to the duel between father and Athol. But now, I'm not certain. I have a few theories I should like to test. You mentioned a moment ago that you would like me to focus on one area of study. With your permission, Master Salazar, I would like to focus on the art of wand making. I have thought about it the past fortnight since father's death, and I am interested in learning the mystic secrets of the subject. Is it truly so that the wand itself is just a piece of wood with a Magical core that matches itself with a wizard? Or can one really create a wand stronger than others? I beg you to allow me to work with both yourself and Deogal Ollivander to delve further into this field. I can travel to study with him on days when his work is light, and thus extend my own studies."

Salazar contemplated this for a few moments, his brow furrowed deeply. Finally, he said, "If you so desire, Antioch, than I shall permit it. But there are many other subjects which you excel at, and which would be better use of your time."

"I truly wish to study the subject more closely. I am confident in the other subjects I have studied in the past, but wandlore is foreign to me at present."

"As you choose." Salazar's voice was dry. It was obvious the eldest Founder clearly disagreed with the idea, and thought Antioch's endeavors would be worthless. "Perhaps for now, you had best return to the common room, and rest before dinner. You have had a long journey from the north. We can discuss your studies later."

"Yes, sir. Mistress Rowena. Master Godric." Antioch inclined his head to the three Founders and left the Great Hall without further comment.

Once his firm footsteps died away in the Entrance Hall, Rowena commented thoughtfully, "Revenge is a savage beast, which controls the senses and mind, and clouds perception. He would do better to study the Dark Arts and their Defenses, or Potions instead of Wandlore, Salazar."

"I am obviously inclined to agree. But as you say, his perception is clouded and the beast currently controls Antioch. The claws are deep. He will in time be pacified, however. Either he will kill the beast, or it will kill him. For the moment, I believe it is best to allow him to follow the path he has selected. At some point, it will come to a dead-end and he will be forced to retrace his steps to the crossroads once more." Salazar turned for the head table again, and Conjured the scroll he had been perusing prior to Antioch and Cadmus's arrival.

Rowena did not respond, but continued to gaze at the doors of the Great Hall. After a long moment, she turned to Cadmus, who looked confused and upset at the Founders' less than flattering discussion of his elder brother.

"Cadmus," she said gently, "you should also return to the tower and rest. The others will be thankful to see you."

Cadmus bowed. "Thank you, Mistress." He turned to leave the hall, but glanced over his shoulder several times to see if his tutors would start discussing his problems once he left. When Salazar scowled at him, Cadmus hurriedly ducked out of the hall.

Salazar then muttered, "He is as lost as the elder."

"Yes, but not bent on revenge at least," Rowena replied. "Just confused and wandering in a forest, with no trail to guide him. At some point he will discover a trail and decide to follow it...or keep searching for another. But it is of little importance at present. It has been a long day, and if you gentlemen will excuse me, I have several letters to respond to in my chambers before dinner."

Salazar nodded slightly, still intent on his parchment, and Godric bowed politely to Rowena before she exited.

He then gently squeezed Ignotus's shoulder.

The young boy looked up, clearly distraught.

Godric murmured, "I am so sorry for what has happened. Perhaps it is best if you return to the Tower, Ignotus. I will be up after dinner to check on you, and to see that everyone is safe."

Ignotus nodded numbly, and turned to trudge towards the Entrance Hall. He could feel his Founder's eyes on his back as he walked, but he would not look back as Cadmus had done. He was stronger than Cadmus was, and he refused to give Salazar a reason to speak so indifferently about him.

But as he mounted the marble staircase, the numb feeling gave way to grief, and he succumbed to crumbling for a few moments.

His father was dead. He had not even seen his father for several months! Corvus Peverell had been assisting the Findlay Clan in the north of Alba, hoping to regain land that the MacBain family had stolen through bloodshed. Corvus had been one of Findlay's greatest war leaders in the past few years, even though his connection to the Findlay Clan was based on distant blood ties. He had been a fighter and a talented wizard, one that Tearlach Findlay was eager to have. And now he was gone. Ignotus stumbled on the last marble step, and fell to his hands and knees as tears finally crept down his face.

He had never had to deal with this kind of pain before. He'd never known anyone who had died, and the feeling was raw and undiluted. He could only imagine how Cadmus and Antioch had felt when they saw it play out before their eyes. A horrid image flashed in his head of a raging battlefield, blood-strewn rocks and men dying, spells flying in all directions, and his proud father dueling fiercely with an unknown man, who's face was hidden beneath a goblin-made mask. The jets of light were bright and blinding, and then one hit his father in the chest, and the wand burst into thousands of pieces and rained to the bloody ground. Antioch and Cadmus were running forward in panic, while members of the Findlay Clan tried to restrain them...

Ignotus wrenched himself back to reality only to realize he had broken into a cold sweat. In all actuality, he had no way of knowing the circumstances of his father's death except from what Antioch and Cadmus had told him in the Great Hall, which had been very little. Any additional information would be revealed later, should his brothers choose to invite his confidence. Struggling, Ignotus grasped the thick marble balustrade beside him and pulled himself to his feet.

It was late in the day, and the castle was silent but for the pounding of blood in his ears and the sound of his heart throbbing against his chest. His skin was clammy, and he closed his eyes as he willed his breathing to slow.

He could not bring his father back; Ignotus knew that. It was true that he had never experienced death before, but he tried to remind himself that there was no sense crying or panicking over something that was unchangeable. His father had been brave and proud, and would have been upset if he had seen Ignotus collapse on the landing. Feeling sick with both grief and shame, Ignotus straightened to his full, lean height and tilted his head back. The silence pressed upon him and calmed him. After several deep breaths, he opened his eyes once more. Everything was just the same – the gigantic hourglasses below held their glittering, precious gemstones; the torches in the brackets along the wall flickered in the draft. Ignotus knew he would have to return to the Tower quickly, before the sun went down. Students were not allowed outside of their common rooms once darkness fell.

But as he turned to go, he heard a soft giggle one floor below him. Frowning, he glanced over the marble banister. But the sound was suddenly no more, and silence reigned again. Ignotus wondered for a brief second if he had dreamed the noise, but he couldn't see how he had possibly imagined it, especially considering how he felt. Apparently, someone was happier than he was at this moment, and also roaming the halls unattended. He sighed heavily and slowly returned to the familiar path that led to the tower reserved for the students of Godric Gryffindor, as overwhelming emotions warred in his heart and brain, threatening to make him ill. Though it seemed like an eternity, it was only minutes later when he stopped before the portrait of a slender, beautiful woman in a long black dress, standing amongst a painted forest.

"Password?" she inquired demurely.

Ignotus rubbed his palms over his eyes and up his forehead, trying to push the horrible ache in his head out. It didn't work.

He dropped his hands to his sides and he blinked blearily at the slender woman, whom the students of Godric Gryffindor called Nerthus. She was watching him benignly. From what Godric had told them, Nerthus had been an incredibly powerful witch who had walked the land several hundred years prior, teaching young witches and wizards that wished to learn the secrets of magic in the secluded forests and vast moors on the Isles, away from the prying eyes of non-magical peoples. The Nerthus in the portrait had told them nothing of her past or her life – she simply asked them for the password each time they approached. Perhaps her past wasn't important to the portrait's duty within the castle, but the students had often been interested in her history. Their attempts to discover it had, as usual, led to silence, which only made them wonder more about Nerthus's achievements.

"Hidden Path," Ignotus answered dully, knowing it was pointless not to answer and remain in the cold corridor.

"Correct," she answered. The portrait cracked open, and Ignotus pulled it forward to step into the entrance of the common room. Godric Gryffindor loved to create new passwords with deeper meanings. "Hidden Path" referred to the secret paths of knowledge that resourceful wizards and witches would need to explore to become truly powerful masters of their arts, and Godric encouraged his students to look beyond obvious magic and into the unknown.

As the portrait of Nerthus swung shut behind Ignotus, a wave of warmth enveloped him. There was a roaring fire blazing in the hearth, and several students were gathered around it, pouring over texts and scrolls of parchment for their studies. In one corner, a young girl with long, dark auburn hair was quietly weaving a magical cloth, using her wand to direct the threads on the makeshift loom she had erected. Other students were sitting at carved wooden tables, working on assignments set to them, and a few were playing Gobstones on the floor.

More often than not, the common room made Ignotus feel warm and welcome. He was among friends – fellow students selected for their bravery, courage and daring. But tonight, the warm, cozy room did nothing for him. He felt heavy, dejected, and crippled. Without speaking to anyone, Ignotus trudged to the dormitories used by the young men. The spiral staircase felt much tighter and longer than usual, as though it would cave in on him if he stopped climbing. When he reached the landing of the Sixth Years, Ignotus felt exceptionally exhausted and was grateful that his bed was close to the door. He toppled upon it, not even bothering to close the curtains around him.

An overwhelming grief swept through his limbs. He wondered if Antioch had thought to write their mother. Ignotus found he did not have the strength to sit up and get a slip of parchment to write such a heartbreaking letter. He would have to ask Antioch later which of them should accept the task at hand. Antioch would probably write it himself, being the eldest.

Ignotus rolled to his back and stared at the canopy above him. The thought that he would never see his father again flitted into his brain. He could no longer tell his father that Master Godric had praised him for his exceptional magical abilities, or that he had received high marks on an essay set by Master Salazar or Mistress Rowena. Corvus Peverell had been proud of all three of his sons, but Ignotus had proven that his powers were as strong as his brothers' even at the age of eleven, when he cast a difficult spell that was far above his level of learning the summer after his first year at Hogwarts. Godric had been amazed and excited upon learning this news, and Ignotus had been trained heavily in Defense Against the Dark Arts since his second year as a result of his abilities. He was now one of the strongest among the students at defensive and offensive spells. Corvus had been exceptionally delighted at this turn of events.

But magical ability and strength were not helping him now. He closed his eyes and swallowed. He would not cry again. It would be weak, and he must be strong. He had to be strong. Antioch was too angry and Cadmus too disheartened. That only left Ignotus, and he was one of Godric's students. He would not let his Founder down.

Unexpectedly, the dormitory door opened against his wishes. At the abrupt sound of the creak, Ignotus quickly rolled to his side, hoping the visitor was simply one of his classmates searching for a quill or parchment to complete an essay. He gazed towards the windows, watching as the stars began to appear in the twilight. The night would be too long and too painful. He wondered if he would sleep at all.

And then a soft voice broke his thoughts.

"Ignotus?"

Startled, Ignotus twisted onto his back again. Leaning around the heavy wooden door stood the girl who had been working at the loom downstairs.

"Are you well?" she asked hesitantly. "Rowe called to you when you entered, but you didn't respond to him."

Ignotus was at a loss for words for various reasons. Aside from his father's death, the girl was looking at him with such a concerned expression in her beautiful brown eyes that it was enough to melt his knees.

He'd always thought Callisto Stewart was beautiful, not to mention kind. He had nursed a soft spot for her in the past six years of study. Callisto was a talented and powerful witch who dedicated herself to her studies, but nothing was known about her family except that her parents were dead and that she was a pure blood. None of her classmates, not even her fellow Gryffindors, knew where she went during summer holidays or who her relatives were. If anyone had asked her, she had not revealed the information. And yet, despite her mystery, the boys were attracted to her beauty, which seemed to have something of the wild moors lurking in the pale, slender shadows of her face.

Ignotus managed to explain without his voice cracking. "Antioch and Cadmus just returned to Hogwarts. The Findley clan lost their strongholds to the MacBain clan only two weeks ago. My father was... killed." He swallowed and diverted his eyes. He couldn't cry in front of her. "He was killed in a duel. I only just found out."

Callisto's expression suddenly became sympathetic and distraught; she had clearly not been expecting anything so serious. After a moment she whispered, "Oh, Ignotus... I'm so sorry."

"Please don't mention it downstairs," he begged, sitting up on the edge of the bed. He couldn't explain why, but he didn't want his friends to know yet. His father had died in a lost battle and somehow, that thought was humiliating. Everyone would find out soon enough and he would endure the comments then.

"You have my word," Callisto promised. She diverted her eyes as she turned to leave. "I'll tell them you don't feel well. Would you like me to bring some dinner up?"

He reluctantly shook his head. He didn't feel like eating at all. "No. But thank you."

She nodded solemnly and shut the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, Ignotus sank back onto the bed. Despite his father's death, watching the pain in Callisto's eyes was harder to deal with than the pain he felt in his heart. He wished he had not upset her.

oOo

"Quiet! Someone will hear, and we shall both be punished!"

"I am sorry! But you've been gone so long, Cadmus. I've missed you terribly. You must know I've been desperate for you! Haven't you ached for me?"

"How could you doubt that I have?" he hissed.

The corridor was dark and deserted. An open window at the further end was letting in a cold draught of air, which had extinguished the torches set along the walls, plunging the two lovers into shadows. But it was only a matter of time before one of the Founders ventured down this corridor in their nightly rounds, and discovered the torches, the draught, and possibly two students out of bed after the sun had set. Cadmus Peverell preferred to at least pretend that he obeyed the rules, even if he personally believed rules were only set in place for those who were too weak or too young to know differently. And he was neither.

Besides, he felt he should be allowed some liberty given the circumstances what he had endured the past few weeks – in particular, meeting with Cearo Raedwald. She was a young witch renowned for her fair beauty. Her golden hair flowed past her waist in soft swirling waves, which she often kept pulled back with ribbons or leather ties. Her eyes were dark blue and her complexion creamy. Her father was a wealthy warlord who gave his only child everything her heart desired. His only stipulation was for Cearo to marry well, to someone of his liking and equal status in monetary terms. He had little knowledge that she had pledged herself to Cadmus Peverell a year prior, but Cadmus was certain Raedwald would not look unkindly on the match – Cadmus was, after all, a pureblood from a wealthy family of honorable, proud wizards.

However, he wasn't thinking about the girl's father at the moment. He wasn't even thinking about being nice to her, even. She was here for one purpose, and a small part of him desperately hoped that one purpose would enable him to forget the horrors of the past few weeks.

Resolutely, he pushed the thought of battle cries and screams and blood to the back of his mind, swallowed hard, and focused on the beautiful dress Cearo was wearing: it was dark gold with a black sash, which hung low on her curved hips. As his eyes dropped to the tie of the sash, a rush of heat surged in his loins, and Cearo smiled sweetly at him.

"That is the look I was hoping for," she murmured, untying the leather straps that held his tunic together. "That is what tells me you have not forgotten me."

In response, his hips pressed to hers, pushing her into the rough stones of the wall, and he kissed her firm and hard. He had missed this in battle and he had desired it so many times while waiting for the fighting to begin once more – the feel of Cearo's body against his hardness... her mouth moving sensually with his lips...

Cearo leaned her head back in pleasure when his mouth released hers to skim her throat. "It has been so long," she groaned, opening his tunic and sliding her hands beneath the rough white undershirt. Her fingers traced his ribs and chest, following the natural contours of muscle and sinew.

"Yes," he panted. He dared not open the sash here, lest someone walked by. But he throbbed for her, and he knew they both needed to find an empty room quickly. To his left was a classroom door, and Cadmus grabbed Cearo's wrist, pulling her roughly towards the empty room. She followed eagerly, not complaining about the treatment she was receiving at his hand or even the unspoken fact that he was merely using her this time to relieve pain and forget his father's death.

Cadmus had barely sealed the door before Cearo was pushing his tunic and undershirt over his head, fumbling in the darkness and in her own desire. As his clothing fell to the floor, he pushed her backwards until she stumbled into a wooden table and toppled on it. Desperate, Cadmus pulled at the tie in the sash, and pushed the fabric down her hips. Free of restraints, the dress slid off her pale shoulders; he could just distinguish her soft skin the dark. His mouth found her curves, and he traced it with his lips, feeling the softness. He could smell her heady scent; it drove him mad, and his erection pressed into his leather breeches at the sound of Cearo's low, husky groans. Her body flowed with his, so perfect against him.

Her dress joined the sash on the floor moments later, and the rough pads of Cadmus' fingers grappled her breasts, squeezing and tweaking the hard peaks that she thrust towards him. He could feel her snatching at his laced breaches, her hands hurriedly delving in to stroke him and pull him towards her. She slid back on the rough, hard surface of the table, no doubt scuffing the smooth skin of her back. Her legs were already wide open; he could smell the musky scent of sex even stronger with her legs parted in invitation. His sweaty body slid against hers as he clambered on top the desk and hovered over her, and he heard her wand clatter to the stone floor. Her mouth found his – her tongue thrust into his lips and she kissed him deeply, begging him, pleading for him to come to her, and Cadmus quickly pushed into her, groaning as the tight heat suddenly enveloped him.

Beneath him, Cearo's hips arched and quivered, pressing firmly to his pelvis. She must have bitten her lower lip to keep from screaming in pleasure, because he vaguely heard the muffled cry deep in her throat. His mouth found hers again. He tasted the copper of blood, and it nearly drove him over the edge as he began to pound into her. She met his thrusts, her body already coated in a fine sheen of sweat as she slid sensually against him.

He had no way of knowing that she had forgotten to cast a Contraception Charm, so lost was she in the lustful heat of finally having her lover after so many months.

oOo

The students of Salazar Slytherin had been quite pleased to see Antioch Peverell enter their dark common room that night. After all, he was eighteen years of age, and technically beyond the years of study. But it was common knowledge that Master Salazar had taken a keen liking to the pure blooded heir of the Peverell family; obviously, this was why he had allowed the eighteen-year-old to return to Hogwarts for yet another year. But despite the cheerful greetings, Antioch only nodded coldly to a few of the others as he made his way through the tall-backed chairs and the intricately carved tables to the dormitories. Striding firmly to avoid being detained, he tugged his cloak off and quickly unlaced his tunic, wanting to put on something more comfortable and write his mother – a chore he detested, because it would devastate her, and none of her sons were home to ease the pain that such a letter would evoke. Perhaps he should also include a letter to one of the house elves, instructing them to give their mistress a Draught of Peace before she read his words. Nissy or Bobsy would be good at that, he thought distantly.

The dormitory was dark. After tossing the cloak on an empty bed along with his tunic and shirt, Antioch pointed his wand at the empty fireplace in the room. The flames instantly danced upwards, filling the small room with excessive warmth. Sighing heavily, he sat down at the desk he had used for the past seven years and lit a few small candles on the edges. Then, unwillingly, he pulled a slip of parchment from one of the drawers and prepared his quill.

The letter was extremely hard to write. Scowling, he wrote a few opening lines of greeting and explained that he and Cadmus had returned to Hogwarts safely, whilst trying to decide how best to approach the grievous subject of his father's untimely, horrible death in a grim war. He wondered if Tearlach had written her, and scoffed at the idea. Tearlach was the sort of man who would worm his way out of such a task if possible; he had sent Corvus into battle instead of going himself, after all.

As he stared at the parchment, absorbed in his thoughts, he did not hear the dormitory door open again. Only when a slender hand caressed his shoulder did he realize he was not alone. But the hand was familiar, and Antioch was hardly even startled by it. He certainly did not look up, but remained bent over his work, allowing his hair to hide his face.

"Father told me you had returned," the low voice purred in his ear. "I felt it necessary to seek you out before you retired to bed and welcome you home to the castle."

He felt soft lips move down his neck, but unlike all the times before, they did not rouse his senses.

Instead, he muttered, "Thank you. But I am quite busy, Serpentina. I have a rather important letter to construct." He glanced at the woman standing next to him for the briefest second.

Her eyes were a dark, lusty green, and her long, wavy hair was as black as his. Serpentina Slytherin had chosen Antioch when they were but fourteen summers, much to the approval of her father and the disappointment of other young men who had been bewitched by the young woman's dark beauty. She was Salazar's only child, and her mother was dead. That was all anyone, even Antioch, knew.

"I see," she retorted. A sarcastic smile twisted the pretty mouth. "I am sorry this letter requires your full attention at this precise moment."

"It does." He returned to the parchment. "I must write to my mother and explain my father's death in battle. It will undoubtedly be a difficult blow for her to absorb. It needs to be done immediately, however. She is not even aware Cadmus and I have returned to Hogwarts; she likely believes we are still in the north."

There was a pause, but Serpentina seemed to accept the answer. "Understandable," she finally murmured. "I shall see you at a more convenient time, then?"

"Yes, thank you."

But Antioch was hardly paying her any attention anymore – he was writing again, trying to explain the gruesome details, while seething with anger at the events he had had to endure. He had watched his father's destruction at the hands of a man who boasted of more power and a stronger wand. He had be a part of the hasty retreat of the Findley Clan to avoid further losses. He had witnessed Cadmus screaming like a child when their father died, which was humiliating and disgusting. His mother would not possibly understand what had happened to him this past summer and furthermore, he could not burden her with his problems. He could not burden anyone with them – not even Serpentina, who knew him better than most.

A dark shadow flickered in Serpentina's fine eyes as she watched him for a moment more. Then she quietly exited the room, leaving Antioch to the boiling hatred that was slowly consuming his being.

Post-Note: Wondering what the Kingdom of Alba is? I didn't make it up, I promise. Between ca. 800-1250, Scotland was called the Kingdom of Alba. Since the story takes place during this time frame, I'll do my best to refer to Scotland as Alba.